Spirits of the Past
by StBridget
Summary: When Steve and Danny get called out to an abandoned plantation house on Halloween, they're expecting teenagers. That's not what they find.


**Hawaii Five-0 is property of CBS and its creators.  
**

 **A/N: I did most of the fluffy Halloween tropes last year, so I decided to try my hand at a haunted house story. This is something different for me, so let me know how I did.**

Danny Williams stared up at the old plantation house. It had once been majestic, he could tell, but it was now in disrepair. The once white paint was gray and peeling, exposing weather beaten planks in some areas. Shutters hung from the second story windows, banging eerily in the breeze, some missing altogether. The widow's walk along the upper story sagged, the railing missing in places. Bougainvillea ran rampant, crawling along the railing of the wrap-around porch, twining around the columns flanking the door, and climbing up the sides of the house to cover the windows completely in thick, green vines. The lawn was overgrown, the frequent tropical rains causing the grass to grow higher than Danny's knees. The scene shone with an ethereal glow in the moonless night.

For just an instant, Danny could see the house in its glory, paint blindingly white, shutters a cheery green, bougainvillea trimmed neatly, its riotous colors giving the house a cheerful air. The immaculately manicured lawn spread down from the porch like an emerald green carpet. Intricate wrought iron framed the widow's walk where Danny could almost see the figure of a woman, dressed in a somber black dress and veil, looking out towards the sea. Danny blinked, and the moment was gone.

"Tell me again why we're here," Danny said to his partner, Steve McGarrett .

"Somebody was driving by and saw lights, but this place has been abandoned for years. They called HPD, and here we are," Steve replied.

"Not _here_ here," Danny said, waving his hands expansively to encompass the entire house and grounds. "Tell me why _we_ , _you and I_ , two members of the governor's elite task force, are responding to a call for what is undoubtedly partying teenagers like a couple of rookie beat cops."

"It's Halloween, Danny," Steve said patiently, as though that explained everything. It didn't.

"So?"

"So, HPD is stretched thin. You know this is a busy night. Duke mentioned they needed some extra hands, so I volunteered Five-0."

"That's fine for you, Steve," Danny said. "You have no life. But did you give a thought to Chin and me? We have _kids,_ Steven. We should be out trick-or-treating, showing off our adorable kids in their adorable costumes and filling our phones with pictures of how cute they are. Not handling nuisance calls."

Shit, Steve hadn't thought of that. No wonder Danny had been cranky all night. "Let's just check this out. Then, I promise, you can go home to Charlie."

Danny sighed. "It'll be too late. He's in bed by now."

Shit, shit, shit. Steve had royally fucked this one up. He laid a hand on his partner's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Danny. You're right; I didn't think about you and Chin and your families. I'll make it up to you. Next year, I promise, we're off on Halloween."

"That's a whole year away," Danny pointed out. "But I appreciate the thought," he said more softly, covering Steve's hand with his own. "Now," he said, breaking the moment, "let's go roust some kids."

Danny and Steve strode confidently up to the door, not bothering to be cautious. This was a time for intimidation, not sneaking about. They needed to put the fear of God into those kids, and they needed to look the part.

Something was off, though. The house was silent. No strobe lights shown through the windows. No music pulsed into the night air. No laughter rang out. "It's awfully quiet for a party," Danny said.

Steve shrugged. "Must have taken off."

Danny turned slowly in a circle, taking in the scene. "I don't see any tire marks. No flattened vegetation except where we came through. No cigarette butts or discarded beer cans. No sign anyone's been here in years."

"Well, we'll report in and call it a night." Steve turned to go, but Danny stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"No, let's check it out."

"Why?" Steve asked. "Like you so astutely pointed out, the place is deserted."

"Something's not right," Danny insisted. "Look, what harm is it going to do to take a quick look?"

"What, do you think an axe-murderer is lurking inside waiting to behead us?" Steve teased. Danny frowned, and Steve sobered. "Okay, fine, we'll take a look."

Steve approached the porch but paused at the foot when he didn't sense Danny beside him. He turned to see his partner creeping up slowly, gun drawn. "Really, Danny? Don't you think you're getting a little carried away?"

"No," Danny said. "I told you, I don't like this. Better safe than sorry."

Steve sighed, exasperated. "Danny, you're being ridiculous. Put that away and come on."

Danny reluctantly holstered his gun. "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you when we get shot at."

"Axe-murderers don't shoot; they use axes," Steve quipped. Danny just glared.

Steve mounted the steps to the porch, which creaked ominously underfoot. Danny went to put his foot down, but pulled back just in time as the boards splintered under his weight. "Shit," he murmured quietly.

"Watch your step," Steve warned belatedly. He didn't need to turn around to sense Danny's glare.

Steve pushed open the door. It let out a high-pitched squeal that set Danny's teeth on edge. "Hello? Anybody home?" Steve called. The only response was his own voice echoing back at him.

"Danny, the place is empty," Steve told his partner. "Can't we just go?"

"Not until we check it out." Danny pushed past Steve and stepped cautiously inside, mindful of rotten floorboards after his experience on the porch. He couldn't make out anything—the new moon and the vine-choked windows combined to make the darkness seem almost as solid as a wall. Danny pulled out his flashlight and clicked it on, sweeping it around the space they stood in. The light revealed a large foyer, staircase spiraling up in the corner, like the rest of the house, once magnificent, now with peeling paint, rotting wood, and handrails missing in places. Three doors opened off the foyer. Danny knew from plans of similar houses he'd studied that one side probably opened to the master suite and the other to the kitchen and dining areas. Straight ahead would be the Great Hall.

"You check downstairs, and I'll check upstairs," Steve said. Danny winced as Steve's voice, seeming far too loud for the silent house, bounced off the walls and surrounded them, almost like another person in the room. "Meet you back here."

"Okay." Steve turned on his own flashlight and carefully made his way up the stairs. Danny moved forward into the Great Hall. The room was huge, easily half the length of the house. His flashlight barely illuminated it, leaving shadows in the corners crowding the light as if eager to get to him. The room was empty, but Danny could picture it the way it must have been in its height, chairs lining the edges, a piano in the corner, a band playing, and guests circulating, chatting, dancing, and enjoying themselves. Danny imagined he could hear the music, see the women in their voluminous skirts, the men in their smart suits and tails. He pictured an elegant young woman curtseying in front of him, reaching her hand out to lead him to the floor. Unconsciously, Danny reached his own hand out and grasped the woman's—only to have his hand close on empty air. The scene was gone.

Danny made his way into the kitchen. The room was silent, like the rest of the house, no sign that anyone had been there in years. Still, Danny swore he sensed a…. _presence_ …behind him, and his hackles rose. He spun around. "Who's there?" No response, but the feeling didn't go away.

His flashlight landed on a door that probably led down to a cellar. Danny walked over and pushed the door open, shining the light into the depths. It illuminated only to the foot of the stairs, inky blackness stretching beyond the limits of the light. Danny was about to close the door again when he heard a noise from below. _Rats_ , he thought. _Just rats_. He heard it again. It didn't sound like rats; it sounded like something scraping against the floor, like a large object being pushed.

"Come out whoever you are!" Danny called. He wasn't expecting a response, and he didn't get one. Danny didn't like the thought of descending the rickety, clearly rotting stairs, but he felt compelled to investigate.

He'd only taken a couple of steps when something pushed him from behind, hard. Danny went tumbling head over heels down the steps, landing hard on a dirt floor. "What the. . .?" He struggled to get up, but his wrist buckled, and a sharp pain radiated from his bum knee. Danny managed to roll over, fumbling for his light. He found it and shone it up the stairs. Nothing was there. But there had to be something—Danny hadn't imagined the pressure on his back. "Who are you?" He addressed the darkness. The only answer was the creaking of the cellar door as it slammed shut, and the distinctive clicking of a lock. Shit; he was locked in.

Danny made another attempt to stand but failed, his weight crashing down on his already weak wrist, causing an explosion of pain. Shit, shit, shit. "Steve!" he shouted, hoping his partner would hear. An eerie laugh answered him, drifting down the stairs and enveloping him, causing goose bumps to rise on his flesh. Danny swung the light again. "Show yourself, you fucker!" The laugh echoed again, and the light went out.

Danny tapped it on the floor, then opened it, shook out the batteries, and shoved them back in. He clicked the switch. Nothing. Dammit, he just put fresh batteries in. Why wasn't it working?

The laughter sounded a third time, and Danny heard the scraping again. What was that? Were the walls closing in? The thought triggered Danny's claustrophobia, and he began to panic. "Let me out! I want to get out of here!"

The strange presence he'd felt before seemed to press closer, and Danny scrambled backwards, trying to get away. It just followed him though, until Danny's back hit a wall. He began hyperventilating. "No! Get away! Stop!" It just pressed closer. Danny felt his chest constricting. It was getting hard to breathe. It was crushing him!

"Stop!" he gasped out. "I can't breathe!" The constriction just got worse. Danny began trembling uncontrollably. He started foaming at the mouth. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he screamed as the world went black.

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Steve prowled the second story, looking for any signs of life. Any signs that anyone had set foot in the house in the last decade, actually. Not finding anything, he turned to head back downstairs. Suddenly, an ear-piercing scream rang out, sending chills down Steve's back. He knew the source instantly—Danny!

Throwing caution to the wind, Steve pounded down the stairs. He paused at the foot. Which way? There were too many damn doors to choose from, and he didn't have the time—Danny was in trouble. "Danny?" Steve called, hoping for a response. There was none.

Steve was about to do eeny-meeny-miney-mo to choose a direction when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. "Danny?" He swung the flashlight around. Nothing. Wait. . .Was that someone in the kitchen? "Danny?" he called again. No answer.

Steve made his way cautiously into the kitchen, gun drawn. No one was there—no Danny, no intruder, nothing. Except. . .Steve caught another movement in his peripheral vision and turned towards it. He didn't see anything at first. Then, he swore he saw a faint outline, almost like a woman, wearing a somber black dress and a veil. She was standing in front of what was probably a cellar door. Steve blinked, and she was gone.

His eyes had to be playing tricks on him. Steve contemplated the door. Maybe Danny was down there. He tried the handle. Locked. He was about to turn away when something brushed against him, and he swore he felt a hand on his, holding it in place. _Go down there_ , he felt, more than heard, in his head.

"Danny?" Steve thought he heard a thunk. Could be Danny, could be rats. Another thunk, then what seemed to be a moan. Steve decided he wasn't wasting any more time. He kicked the door in and shone his light down the stairs. He couldn't see anything beyond the gleam of light shining down the stairs.

Steve wanted to charge down the stairs, heedless of any danger, just wanting to get to his partner, but he knew that was a bad idea. He could just hear Danny chastising him. So, Steve took the stairs slower than he wanted to, placing his feet carefully, gun and flashlight pointed in front of him.

Steve reached the foot of the stairs just as he heard another noise. He turned towards it. There? Was that a body? Yes. It was Danny, on the floor, seizing.

"Fuck." Steve holstered his gun and approached his partner. He couldn't get too close, though; Danny was thrashing too violently. He wanted to do something, to help, to get the shaking to stop, but there wasn't anything he could do. All he could do was wait it out and make sure Danny didn't choke on his own tongue.

Steve pulled out his phone to call for help. No reception. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Danny needed medical attention, but Steve couldn't leave him alone. He stood helplessly to the side, praying Danny would come out of it soon.

Fortunately, the thrashing stopped a few seconds later, and Danny let out a long groan. Steve knelt down beside him. "Danny? You with me, buddy?"

Danny's eyes fluttered open, unfocused. "Get away! Leave me alone!"

"Shh, Danny, it's okay. It's just me. Steve," Steve soothed.

Danny looked at Steve, confused. "Steve?"

"Yeah, buddy," Steve confirmed. "What happened?"

Danny thought for a moment. "I don't know. Dark. Pushed."

"Somebody pushed you?" Steve prompted. "Who?"

Danny frowned, concentrating. "Don't know. Laughter. It was closing in. It was suffocating me. It tried to kill me, Steve!"

"Danny, you're making no sense. What tried to kill you? There's no one here."

Danny was clearly getting agitated, babbling incoherently. Steve couldn't make out the words except "suffocating", "laughing", "closing in". All Steve could think was that he must have been hallucinating. Steve couldn't blame him—this place was playing tricks on his eyes, too. Even now, he could swear he felt something, not the woman from the kitchen, but something dark, something evil. No wonder Danny had panicked.

"Shh, shh, calm down," Steve murmured. "Let's get you out of here."

"I can't. My wrist, my knee."

Steve trained his flashlight on Danny's wrist. It was rapidly swelling, clearly sprained, at least. "Okay, I got you." Steve swung Danny's arm around his shoulders and helped the shorter man up. Danny went to put weight on his leg, but screamed. "My knee!"

"Damn," Steve swore. How was he going to get Danny out of here? There was only one way. Steve swept Danny up in a bridal carry. It was a testament to how badly Danny was hurt that he didn't even complain.

Steve carried Danny up the cellar stairs, out of the house, and to the Camaro. He managed to open the back door and get Danny settled in the back seat. "I'll radio for help," Steve said, reaching for his phone.

A hand on his arm stopped him. "No," Danny said.

"Danny, you need medical attention," Steve reasoned. "You need a hospital."

"I know," Danny said. "Just. . .not here. I don't think anyone else should be here."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"The house, Steve. It doesn't like visitors."

Steve didn't know what to say to that, so he tried to lighten the mood. "I thought you weren't superstitious," he joked.

Danny scowled. "Don't tell me you didn't feel it."

Steve thought back to the cellar, the sense of something malevolent lurking in the darkness. Yeah, there was something there, he had to admit. It wasn't all evil, though, he thought, thinking of the form who'd led him to Danny. "You're right," Steve said. "I'll get you to Queens myself."

Danny visibly relaxed. "Good. Now, let's get out of here. I never want to see this place again."

"Amen to that." Steve got in the driver's seat and started the car. As he left, he took one last glance at the hulking shell in his rearview mirror. There was a darkness about the house, more than the moonlit night, but he thought he caught a glimpse of a woman's form on the widow's walk, waving as he drove away.


End file.
